


At Your Service

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drunk Sex, Falling In Love, M/M, Master/Servant, Minor Violence, Multiple Partners, Playboy Porthos, Secret Past, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 18:44:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5977249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt "Porthos is a rich playboy and Athos is his long suffering assistant who’s secretly in love with him and hides it behind lots of sarcasm," (featuring an additional request for barefoot Athos in a suit, for reasons).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"I've laid the grey suit out for you on the bed. And the silver cufflinks." 

Porthos took the proffered glass of champagne with a grin and let his towel fall disregarded to the floor in the process. "You're a treasure."

Ignoring the fact his employer was now stark naked, Athos bent to retrieve the damp towel before it could leave a mark on the expensive carpet. 

"The car will be out front in twenty minutes. Do you need help dressing, or do you think you can navigate the complexities on your own for once?"

Porthos' grin widened. "Remind me again why I let you talk to me like this?"

"Because no other poor bastard would put up with you?" Athos suggested. 

"Hey! I'm a fucking delight, me," Porthos chuckled, downing the glass of champagne and holding the empty glass out for Athos to take. 

Athos made no further comment, but his expression was eloquent and Porthos was still laughing as he walked into the bedroom to get dressed.

When he came out again he was wearing the suit Athos had picked out but an entirely different shirt and Athos looked pained.

"The scarlet? Really?"

"Gotta make an impact," Porthos retorted, straightening his sleeves and accepting another glass of champagne. "You don't walk into one of Aramis' parties looking like a fucking bank manager."

"Has he banned his guests from looking classy as well then?" Athos muttered, helping Porthos into his coat. 

Porthos snorted. "Who needs class when you've got money?" He patted Athos smartly on the cheek and winked at him. "Don't wait up, eh? I feel lucky tonight."

"When don't you?" Athos sighed, but not until the door had closed behind him.

\--

Sure enough it was gone two in the morning when Athos heard Porthos stumble back into the apartment. As usual he'd been sleeping with one ear open anticipating his return and rolled onto his back, listening. If Porthos was alone he'd get up and see if he needed anything; if he had company then Athos would stay discreetly out of the way unless Porthos called for him.

A door banged, and there came the tinkle of glassware. A woman's voice, muffled by the walls but rising in laughter. Athos grunted and rolled back onto his front, burying his face in the pillow. If it was a woman Porthos would be playing the gracious host, which at least meant Athos could go back to sleep. All he needed to worry about now was how much of a mess Porthos would create in the kitchen. 

Athos' final thought before he fell asleep was grudging approval that at least if Porthos' conquest tonight was a woman she'd be more likely to automatically shut the fucking fridge door if Porthos didn't.

\--

"Good morning madam. Can I get you anything?"

The woman standing at the window started slightly, and turned to look at Athos with a nervous smile. 

"Oh. Hello. Sorry, Porthos did say he had a..." She let the thought tail off, leaving Athos to wonder how he'd been described this time. 

"My name is Athos, and I'm at your disposal," he said, and smiled reassuringly at her. She relaxed a little, and laughed. 

"I'm Alice. Hello. Um." She bit her lip, and glanced back out of the window. "You have an amazing view."

"One of the best on the harbour," Athos agreed, deliberately not claiming it as _the_ best, on the grounds it would hopefully annoy Porthos if he could hear them. "Can I get you anything for breakfast?" he offered again. "Orange juice? Coffee? Something to eat?"

"That would be lovely, thank you," Alice said gratefully. "Both of those. And perhaps a little toast?"

"Certainly madam." Athos withdrew to the kitchen, which he'd been relieved to find hadn't been in the state he'd feared. He suspected Porthos had just fetched a bottle of something and taken it to bed with them.

When he came back in, Porthos had emerged from the bathroom and was sitting opposite Alice at the table, wearing a silk robe and fresh pyjamas.

Athos duly delivered the breakfast tray, stocked with enough for both of them, and as he withdrew he heard Alice ask in an amused stage whisper, "Is he your butler?"

Porthos laughed. "More of a - gentleman's gentleman," he grinned, watching Athos walk away stiff-backed. He knew perfectly well Athos preferred the term personal assistant, which was why he consistently described him in terms that were as old fashioned as possible. When it came to aggravating each other, it was a game they were both well-versed in.

\--

"Will the lovely Alice be joining you again this evening?" Athos asked slyly, swiping lint from the sleeves of Porthos' tuxedo with a clothes brush.

Porthos shook his head. "Nah. She was headed off on some guy's yacht. Suits me. I prefer to restrict my cruising to land-based venues," he grinned.

"And which harbour will you be dropping anchor in tonight?" Athos slapped Porthos' hands away from the hash he was making of his bowtie and did it for him, with an economy of deft movements that produced a perfect knot.

"The casinos I think," Porthos decided. "Spread a little wealth, eh?"

"I'm sure all those starving casino bosses will be duly grateful," Athos retorted. Porthos certainly wasn't the world's best gambler, but he did at least manage to stick to his limits and generally came home when he'd lost his self-imposed allocation for the night. 

"My luck lies in other areas," Porthos told him happily. "I might not win big, but I guarantee I'll not come home empty handed. Man like me, I can have anything I want. Boys, girls, you name it."

"Chlamydia?" Athos suggested, and Porthos made a face.

"Urgh, shut up!" He gave Athos a shove, then grinned again. "Don't worry, I'm careful me. Gotta take care of the goods, ain't ya?"

"Glad to hear it," Athos said dryly, and Porthos nudged him.

"What you into then Athos? Girls? Boys? You've never said."

"A quiet life."

Porthos laughed. "Do you good to get laid once in a while you know. Might stop you being so bloody miserable."

"I'll certainly bear that in mind." Athos held the door open for him, and once Porthos had gone out he leant back against it, and sighed.

\--

This time when the door crashed open at one in the morning, Athos picked out a second male voice, a fraction higher than Porthos' deep rumble. He sat up and switched on the lamp, knowing from experience that for some unfathomable reason Porthos enjoyed showing off the fact he had staff to his male guests far more than the women.

Sure enough after a minute or so Athos heard his name called out urgently. Frowning, he grabbed his dressing gown and slipped out of his room, thinking that Porthos had sounded more concerned than he would have expected if he was simply needed to play butler.

He found Porthos in the living room with a long-haired young man hanging off his shoulder, looking distinctly green around the gills. 

"I think I broke him," Porthos said sheepishly, as Athos gave him a despairing look. "He insisted on trying to keep up with me, despite me being twice his size."

The boy gave a slight belch and looked panicked. Porthos made a face and Athos groaned. "Give him to me. Here, come on, it's alright, let's get you to the bathroom."

Porthos retreated gratefully into the bedroom while Athos supported his increasingly queasy looking guest into the main bathroom and stayed with him while he immediately threw up.

"Word to the wise, never try to out-drink a brick shithouse," Athos murmured, handing the lad a damp towel and leaning over to flush the toilet when it seemed like he'd finished. "However poncy his shirts."

Sitting crumpled and woebegone on the floor, Porthos' latest conquest looked up at him and nodded resignedly, before looking slightly confused.

"Sorry, I don't - who are you?"

"My name is Athos, I work for Porthos," he said quietly. "It's okay, don't worry. You're safe with me. I'm not his partner, and he's not into kinky threesome shit. Well, as far as I know."

The boy raised a smile at that. "I'm d'Artagnan," he said croakily. "Sorry about this. I don't normally make this much of an arse of myself."

Athos patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it." He rummaged in a mirrored cabinet and handed d'Artagnan a sealed plastic packet containing a travel toothbrush and a tiny tube of toothpaste. "Here. You might want to freshen up. Come and find me when you're done, I'll make you some coffee."

D'Artagnan did as he was told and followed Athos into the kitchen, where he was promptly given a glass of water, a cup of coffee and a piece of bread and butter.

"Thanks," he said weakly. "Sorry."

Athos shook his head. "It's fine." He poured himself a cup of coffee as well and took the adjacent stool, sitting next to him in companionable silence until d'Artagnan had finished and pushed his cup away. 

"What happens now?" d'Artagnan asked awkwardly. Athos glanced at him, and was pleased to see he was looking better.

"Up to you. You can go on and join Porthos in the bedroom if you want. Or I can call you a cab."

"Will he still want me to?" D'Artagnan looked uncertain and nervous, and Athos mentally rolled his eyes.

"I'm sure he will." As long as you don't throw up on him, he added silently. 

"Then I'd like to."

Athos nodded, and showed d'Artagnan the way to Porthos' bedroom, lingering outside just long enough to pick up the murmur of voices and be sure that Porthos hadn't unhelpfully fallen asleep. 

Satisfied, he went back first to the kitchen and then the bathroom to clean everything up, and finally climbed thankfully back into his own bed. Some days, he mused, he really felt like he wasn't paid enough for this shit.

\--

"Thanks dude." Porthos sounded remarkably subdued compared to normal, and Athos looked up from the newspaper in surprise, to find him leaning in the kitchen doorway. 

"What for?" he asked automatically. Porthos wasn't generally given to spontaneous outbursts of gratitude, and it took Athos a second to work out what he was talking about.

"Looking after the kid last night." Porthos shuffled his feet awkwardly. "That was shitty of me, to dump him on you. I just - I can't stand seeing people throw up."

"Maybe you shouldn't have got him that drunk in the first place then," Athos said mildly. "Was he okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, he buggered off early though," Porthos said. "Said he had to get back to work for the next shift."

"What does he do?" Athos asked, surprised. He'd assumed d'Artagnan had been one of the feckless yachty set with more money than sense that Porthos generally hung around with.

"Croupier," Porthos admitted, his expression somewhere between embarrassment and pride.

Athos snorted with laughter. "You won something at the tables last night then?"

Porthos smirked. "I took him to the roulette wheel and asked him if he liked to ride on black."

Athos put his head in his hands. "And there was me accusing you of not being classy." 

\--

It was spotting with rain that night as Athos made his way down to the marina with Porthos' coat over his arm. This was, in fact, the reason he'd been dragged out of the nice warm flat, Porthos had taken one look at the weather and called him, pleading for Athos to make the trip down with his coat.

It wasn't far, and it wasn't that late, but Athos had nevertheless spent the entire trip down muttering darkly to himself about how some people seemed to think that just because they were rich the weather should somehow always be warm and sunny. Even here on the Med, it was prone to rain in late September.

He found Porthos lurking under an awning on the pontoon below his friend Aramis' yacht.

"Here. One coat, as ordered. Next time maybe dress for the season?"

"Fuck you, it didn't go with my shirt," Porthos objected, letting Athos help him on with it.

"You mean, thank you Athos, that's very kind of you to come all this way with it," Athos said stiffly and Porthos wrinkled his nose. 

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Here, do you fancy a drink?"

Athos raised an eyebrow. "What happened to the fancy party? No good?"

He'd been surprised to find Porthos outside and waiting for him for that matter, he'd expected to merely hand in the coat to the staff and go home again.

Porthos shrugged uncomfortably. "Had an argument with Aramis. He's chasing a married woman again, and I may have reminded him how badly it ended last time."

"People rarely like hearing the truth about themselves," Athos murmured, giving Porthos a sideways look.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Porthos growled. "Not like you ever bleedin' hold back, is it?"

"Not that you ever take any notice of me." Athos frowned as Porthos lead him down a dark and slippery alley. "Where are we going?"

"Bar," said Porthos shortly, pushing his way in through a metal door and not waiting to see if Athos was following.

Inside the lighting was low and the floorboards were sticky, and Athos kept a cautious hand on his wallet as they pushed through the crowd. He'd never been in here before, although Porthos seemed relatively familiar with it. 

Athos felt his skin prickling as they were scrutinised from all sides. The clientele seemed to be a mixture of locals - the proper locals, as opposed to the denizens of the expensive apartment blocks and multi-million pound yachts - and the crews of said yachts, at least from the rougher end of the scale. He wouldn't have been especially worried drinking here alone, but he sensed Porthos stood out like expensively clad bait and it made him uneasy.

"Are you sure you want to drink in here?" he murmured, as Porthos waved a note obnoxiously at the barman.

"What's the matter with it? Bit of local colour, eh?" Porthos said cheerfully.

"Mmmn." Athos dubiously accepted the glass that was thrust into his hand, and wiped the rim with his sleeve.

"Don't be such an old queen." Porthos nudged him with his elbow and knocked his own drink back in one. "Want another?"

Athos sighed, and followed suit. 

\--

An hour later Porthos was looking tired and Athos was relieved when he finally suggested they go home. He helped Porthos into his coat for the second time that evening, and followed him out into the alleyway.

It was raining in earnest now, and the cooler air was welcome after the fug of the bar. As they walked up towards the road Porthos was grumbling about the weather, but Athos' attention was on the two figures that had stepped out of the shadows to block their way.

"Evenin' gents." Porthos nodded to them amiably enough, then looked puzzled as they didn't move out of his way. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah. You can help us." They exchanged looks, and one of them gave a nasty laugh. The streetlights were all behind them and their faces were in darkness, but a flash of headlights from a passing car revealed matching sneers.

"Have you got the time? No, wait, let me rephrase that. Give me your watch," said the first man with a snigger.

"And your wallet," said the second. "You too sweetheart," he added, looking at Athos.

"How about I give you a punch in the face instead?" Athos retorted, and they tensed.

"Now now. Let's not get nasty." There was a horrid sounding snick, and suddenly the gleam of metal shone dully between them.

"Shit." Porthos took a step back. "He's got a knife."

"Am I supposed to be impressed?" Athos moved up next to him, and Porthos looked round wildly. 

"Athos! Don't antagonise them! Look, just give them what they want, let's get out of here. I'll pay you back whatever you're carrying," he said in an urgent undertone.

"No. Fuck it. Why should I?" Athos took another step forward. "You know what they say about men who carry knives right?" he said conversationally, then held up thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. "Very small dicks."

There was a flurry of movement as the man with the knife slashed viciously at Athos and Athos did something that Porthos couldn't quite make out, but suddenly there was a sick sounding crack and the knife dropped to the cobbles. The man who'd been wielding it staggered back with a howl, clutching his wrist.

"Fucking - gut him!" he spluttered. His associate, who'd been standing frozen with his mouth open for the last few seconds, immediately piled in, only to meet Athos' fist backhanding him almost casually in the face. He bounced back, hit the brick wall behind him, and subsided unconscious to the wet ground.

Athos took another deliberate step towards the first man, who cut his losses and ran, swearing violently at them.

Athos glanced at Porthos. "You okay?" Porthos nodded mutely. "Good. I suggest we get out of here, before he comes back with friends."

\--

Porthos hadn't said a word all the way back to the flat, and as Athos helped him off with his coat, he sighed. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" Porthos stared at him incredulously. "You just broke a man's wrist!"

"What, you think I should have let him just take our wallets?" Athos hung up their coats and walked into the kitchen, washing his hands vigorously under a stream of hot water.

"Well - no." Porthos sank onto a stool and reached for a glass. "I mean - it was amazing. You were amazing. Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

Athos passed him the single malt without having to be asked, and hesitated. 

"Does it matter?"

"Well I don't remember it being on your CV, put it that way," Porthos said. "Bare knuckle fighting, unarmed combat? I'm fairly sure I'd have remembered that section."

Athos looked increasingly uncomfortable. "I was in the army, okay?" he admitted. 

"Were you?" Porthos asked, surprised. He was certain that hadn't been on there either.

"Briefly." Athos poured himself a measure as well, and to Porthos' disgust added two ice cubes. "Does it matter?"

"I'm just curious." Porthos sipped his drink and eyed him. "You never talk about your past. Now I'm wondering why."

"Maybe I just don't feel the need to overshare every little detail," Athos said tiredly. "Look, do you need me any more tonight, or may I go to bed?"

Porthos was taken aback. Athos almost never formally asked to go off duty, and it was clearly to avoid any further questioning.

"Yeah, course you can," he muttered. 

"Thank you." Athos picked up his drink and made to leave the room.

"Athos!" Porthos frowned, feeling an unwelcome prickle of conscience. "You okay?"

Athos nodded. "Yeah," he said softly. "Just tired."

"I didn't really say thank you, did I? For saving my arse, I mean. Thanks, anyway," Porthos added awkwardly. 

Athos gave him a faint smile. "All in a day's work," he said, and toasted Porthos briefly with his glass before walking out of the door. 

\--

"So. Army huh?" Porthos looked enquiringly up at Athos as he set a plate of scrambled eggs and smoked salmon in front of him the next morning.

Athos looked away. "I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind."

"Why not?" Porthos persisted, shovelling eggs into his mouth. "What's so bad about being in the army?" He grinned. "It wasn't covert ops was it? Like, you can't tell me because then you'd have to kill me?" 

"Nothing so dramatic, I assure you," Athos said quietly. "Can I get you anything else?"

"How about a side order of personal history?" Porthos needled. "Go on, what's the big secret?"

"Why do you need to know?" Athos countered, turning on him exasperatedly. "What possible bearing can it have on my ability to do my job?"

"Keep your hair on," Porthos muttered. "Just curious, that's all."

"Nosy, you mean."

Porthos glowered at him. "Is it that surprising I want to know who I'm sharing a flat with?" He poked his fork at Athos. "I could order you to tell me."

"And I'm asking you not to." Athos sighed. "Have I ever given you reason to doubt me?"

"Well. No." Porthos' phone went at that point, and Athos thankfully made his escape. 

When he'd finished his breakfast, Porthos came to find Athos in the kitchen. 

"That was Aramis. I'm going round for coffee."

"Oh, good." Athos nodded, relieved that Porthos had voluntarily changed the subject. "You've made up then?"

Porthos nodded. "Yeah. He never holds a grudge for long. Plus, I'm the only one willing to listen to his woes. See you later yeah? Oh, while I think of it could you book the tickets for Paris?"

"Already done," Athos confirmed, and Porthos grinned at him gratefully. 

"What would I do without you, eh?"

\--

"He did what?" Aramis leaned back in his padded seat on the upper deck of the yacht and stared at Porthos in astonishment.

"I'm telling you, he broke the guy's wrist. And knocked the other one clean out. I mean, I'm no pussy but when a guy's got a flaming knife, I'm not going to take any chances. It's only money, you know? But Athos - it was like it spurred him on. He didn't even break sweat!" Porthos leaned across the table, relishing having some gossip of his own for once. "And the thing is, he clammed right up about it afterwards. Won't tell me a thing."

"He's not on the run is he?" Aramis grinned. "Hiding out undercover. Hey, maybe he's a hitman."

Porthos snorted into his coffee, and made a face. "God, don't say things like that. Nah, the one thing he did admit was being in the army. Mind you, that takes some picturing. I can't see him as a squaddie somehow."

"He'd have been beautifully turned out," Aramis laughed. "Everything polished to within an inch of its life. And think of the immaculate marching."

Porthos was giggling by now. "The most organised invasion plans ever." He poured himself another cup from the silver pot, and spooned in sugar. "Christ, maybe they should have put Athos in charge of the whole forces, he'd have had 'em all drilled to precision in weeks." 

The inadvertent mental image made him start laughing again. He still had no idea if Athos was into men, but he had to admit the unexpected display of brute force had been a bit of a secret turn on after the shock of it had worn off. 

Aramis excused himself for a moment, and while Porthos was enjoying the view over the water, a shadow fell over him. He looked up to see Aramis' assistant had come over with a fresh pot of coffee and some pastries.

"Excuse me sir, I couldn't help overhearing," he ventured.

"What is it Rochefort?" Porthos asked, scowling slightly at the thought the man had been eavesdropping. 

"I hope you don't think I'm interfering in any way, but if I can offer my services at all...?"

Porthos frowned. "To do what, exactly?" Rochefort had once upon a time applied to be his assistant, only to be beaten to the job by Athos. Porthos had always had the vague feeling he'd held a grudge ever since, even though he'd shortly afterwards picked up a position working for Aramis. 

"I could perhaps be of service with some research into Mr La Fere's - background, shall we say?" Rochefort said smoothly. "Just to put your mind at ease. It does seem rather odd, his reluctance to talk about it."

Porthos considered. He wasn't really worried that a background check on Athos might turn up anything untoward, but on the other hand he was intensely curious, and if he got Rochefort to do it, Athos need never know.

"Yeah, alright. Let me know what you find out. Not a word to anyone else though, eh?"

"Of course not sir. I am quite the soul of discretion." He gave Porthos an oily smile, and quickly moved away as Aramis came back.

\--

"So what have you got?" Porthos looked round nervously, feeling unaccountably guilty at this surreptitious meeting with Rochefort. They were at a table in a street cafe, and while they were shielded by various potted shrubs and umbrellas, Porthos couldn't help the feeling that Athos was going to walk past at any moment.

"Well. It's quite interesting. Shocking, in fact, one might say." Rochefort had placed a cardboard folder on the table in front of him, but made no move to open it, and Porthos suddenly had the urge to shake him until his teeth rattled. Or maybe he'd let Athos do it.

"Stop building your part, and tell me what you found out," he said gruffly. Rochefort had made it clear on the phone that he'd discovered something Porthos would want to know, and that he expected to be paid for the information, both things that had put Porthos in an exceedingly bad mood. 

He hated the feeling that he was going behind Athos' back, but equally he hated the idea that Athos was hiding something from him that made it necessary. 

"Well, for a start there's no such person as Athos de la Fere," declared Rochefort slowly, enjoying the look of consternation on Porthos' face. "That's why it took me a few days to come up with the goods. No person exists on the electoral roll of that name, either here or in France. I did, however, find an Olivier d'Athos who was in the armed forces about ten years ago."

"Olivier?" Porthos frowned. "It can't be him, surely?" 

"See what you think." Rochefort flipped open the folder and pushed it towards him. There was a black and white photograph lying on top, a blurry group of men in combat fatigues gathered around a table with one in particular looking at the camera, leaning slightly towards it with a predatory look and a lazy smile. He had a buzz-cut, but after the first double-take there was no question that it was Athos. 

"Fuck," said Porthos softly. So much for not being able to picture Athos as a squaddie. He looked different. Dangerous. But it was still recognisably him.

"I think we are agreed, it's Athos, yes?" said Rochefort smugly. "Do you want to know the rest? Because I can tell you, it's fairly obvious why he didn't want you to know."

"Why? What?" Porthos glared at him. "Spit it out man, what's the big secret? Why did he change his name?"

"Because," Rochefort drawled, savouring the reveal. "He was in prison."

"Prison?" Porthos sat back, shocked. "Why? What did he do?"

"He killed someone. A fellow soldier, in fact. Got into a fight, as I understand it. Broke his neck. Cue dishonourable discharge and five years for manslaughter. The prosecution wanted to do him for murder, but apparently he showed such remorse in the witness box he got away with the lesser conviction." Rochefort curled his lip, clearly wishing they'd locked him up and thrown away the key. "It's all in there," he added, tapping the file. "Court reports, newspaper clippings."

"Christ." Porthos rubbed his face, feeling sick. He'd never imagined uncovering anything like this. No wonder Athos hadn't wanted him to know.

"I'm shocked that a man in such a trusted position lied to you for so long," said Rochefort. Porthos looked at him irritably.

"He didn't lie to me. He just didn't tell me. There's a difference."

"If that makes you feel better." Rochefort spread his hands. "Just about his name then. And, presumably, parts of his employment history. The question is, what are you going to do about it?"

"Do?" Porthos looked at him blankly, feeling battered and rather wishing he'd never asked Rochefort to find out in the first place. 

"Well you'll have to confront the man, surely? May I say, if you're looking to recruit an alternative assistant I would be entirely at your disposal?"

"I'm sure Aramis would be glad to know how loyal you are," Porthos said dryly. "How much for the information? And for keeping your mouth shut about it," he added as an afterthought.

Rochefort named a ridiculous sum and Porthos paid it with gritted teeth. 

"I don't know yet," he said. "What I'm going to do with this information. But if it gets out, in the public domain? I'll know where it came from. And I'll make sure Athos does, too."

"And will you also tell him you paid me to find it?" Rochefort asked coldly, getting up to leave.

Porthos sat there for some time, in a dismal mood. He was at a loss to know what to do for the best. He read through the file, wincing at the stark facts of the case, and feeling ill. That this was someone he'd employed, trusted, invited into his home - _could_ he trust Athos? 

The thought hit him like a blow. Athos had access to a considerable amount of his money, given that he dealt with the paying of all bills, food shopping, travel arrangements and so on. Porthos never bothered to check his statements, not having much of a head for figures. He'd been glad that Athos had taken charge of everything. 

He got to his feet, tucking the folder into his bag. It was getting dark, and Athos would be wondering where he was. Sure enough, his phone vibrated with a text - Athos, asking if he would be home for dinner or should he just feed it to the seagulls?

Porthos smiled, then felt sad. He didn't want to believe Athos was taking him for a ride - he'd been with him for three years now, and he'd have had plenty of opportunities to abscond with a pile of cash before now if that's what he'd been planning. Maybe Athos really had just been looking for a fresh start.

He arrived home in a sober mood, still conflicted as to what to do for the best. However much he wanted to, he couldn't pretend he didn't know. He found he was watching Athos intently as he moved about the flat, discussing arrangements for their journey to Paris at the weekend. 

Porthos liked to spend the winter in the city where there was more going on, migrating with the social flock, and kept a beautiful house there. Athos was reeling off a list of information: train times, details of luggage dispatch, instructions he'd given for having the house opened up and aired and stocked, and Porthos wasn't taking any of it in. 

"Is everything alright?" 

Porthos blinked. "Sorry, what?"

"Well given that I'm fairly sure you've not been listening to a word I've said, and you've barely touched your dinner, I wondered if something was wrong." Athos suddenly looked suspicious. "Oh God, you're not in love are you?"

"What? No!" 

"Thank God for that," Athos muttered.

"Wouldn't be any of your business if I was," Porthos muttered back, stung. 

"No. No, you're right, my apologies." Athos looked a little shamefaced, and turned away. 

"Olivier." The name was out before Porthos could stop it. Athos froze.

"What did you call me?" he asked quietly, without turning round.

"Olivier. I mean, that's your name, isn't it? Olivier d'Athos?"

Athos turned round slowly, his face a stony mask. "How the fuck did you find that out?"

"A little bird told me." Porthos shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 

"And what else did this little bird tell you?" Athos asked coldly.

"That - you've been in prison." Porthos stood up, not liking the way he felt at a disadvantage with Athos looking down at him. "And why."

Athos just stared at him, eyes searching his face as if for answers.

"I see." Breathing the words more than speaking them, his gaze finally falling to the carpet. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" Porthos demanded, feeling awkward. He'd been prepared for Athos to be angry, but hadn't anticipated this look of stunned and abject defeat.

Athos looked up again. "Why do you think? Would you have given me the job if I'd told you the truth? Honestly?"

"Well - no. Probably not," Porthos admitted. 

"There you are then," Athos sighed. 

"I might have!" Porthos objected. "Or - or you could have told me after."

"Who told you all this?" Athos asked, and Porthos fidgeted uncomfortably. 

"Does it matter?"

"I need to know who else knows." Athos looked pleading, and Porthos winced inwardly.

"Rochefort."

"Rochefort! How the hell - ?"

"I - asked him to do some digging," Porthos confessed. "Because you wouldn't tell me!" he blurted indignantly when Athos stared at him in shock. "What was I supposed to do? You were being all man of mystery about it, I needed to know!"

"Did you?" Athos asked faintly. "Really?"

Porthos didn't have an answer. "You could have been anyone," he muttered defensively.

Athos sighed, rubbing his eyes. "And it turns out I was. You're right, I should have been honest with you. I'm sorry you feel I've deceived you. You'll have my resignation on your desk in the morning."

He turned to go and Porthos grabbed his arm, startled. "Wait! What are you talking about?"

Athos looked at him tiredly. "You don't trust me. You mistrust me, in fact, enough to have me investigated, and by a man I wouldn't trust to do up my shoelaces. Which means in turn, I can no longer trust you either. What basis is that for a working relationship? You clearly don't want a man of my history working for you, so I'll make it easy for you. You don't have to fire me. I resign." Athos pulled out of his grip and walked out of the door. 

"Athos!" Porthos dashed after him just in time to see the outer doors click shut and realised that Athos had actually left the apartment. By the time he'd pulled them open and stepped out into the lobby the lift doors were closing, and he sighed, knowing he'd never catch him down that many flights of stairs.

He walked back inside, feeling sick. He hadn't intended for such an outcome, had imagined they could talk it all through. Hoped that when Athos cooled down and came back, if only to collect his stuff, they could work things out.

Porthos spent a miserable evening and a restless night, and when he got up in the morning and discovered that Athos wasn't there and his bed hadn't been slept in he had to face the most uncomfortable truth of all - that Athos clearly wasn't coming back.

\--


	2. Chapter 2

Porthos prowled the apartment fretfully, kicking himself for mishandling the entire thing. Aside from anything else it meant there was nobody to cook his breakfast for him, and while he acknowledged that in the grand scheme of things this was an amazingly petty thing to be focussing on, it also meant he was currently operating on an empty stomach, which made everything seem that much worse.

He gave up trying to operate the overly complicated coffee machine and settled for stealing one of Athos' stash of English breakfast teabags, which just made him feel more melancholy than ever. 

On a wave of misplaced confidence he then attempted to make himself scrambled eggs, on the grounds Athos made it look easy - only to end up throwing the entire saucepan in the bin ten minutes later in disgust, the mess of eggs welded irrevocably to the bottom.

He got dressed and went out for breakfast instead, hoping that Athos wouldn't sneak in and out while he was gone. When he returned there was no sign Athos had been near the place and he sighed, picking up his own wet towels from the bathroom floor and making a face.

It was dawning on him not just how much he relied on Athos, but how unnecessarily difficult he made the man's life. Porthos had been born with nothing, had made his fortune by the time he was in his twenties through a series of engineering innovations that had been snapped up by the motor trade, and had thrown himself into the playboy lifestyle with gay abandon. 

Whilst the old money tended to look down on the vulgar young upstarts there were plenty of people like him on the party circuit with money to burn looking for a good time. He'd adored the idea of having someone at his beck and call night and day, and had taken full advantage. 

In his defence, he mused a little uncomfortably, Athos had never complained. Or rather, Athos had complained a lot, but never objected to actually doing any of it. They'd had an understanding, Porthos thought. Athos made his life run smoothly and indulged every one of Porthos' whims and idiosyncrasies. In return, Athos got to bitch as much as he liked about everything, and could eat, drink and indulge himself at Porthos' expense.

He thought about how it would feel to have someone else living here, sleeping in Athos' bed, cooking his meals. Was surprised by how wrong it felt. He'd never thought of Athos as anything more than an employee, but he had liked the man. And he could hardly picture someone like Rochefort getting up in the middle of the night to look after one of his one night stands. 

Porthos shuddered at the thought of it. To start from the beginning again, with someone else, was unthinkable. He realised how much Athos knew about him, about his tastes and preferences and habits. How tedious it would be to have someone new, who didn't understand him. And it was more than that, he realised. The flat seemed horribly empty with just him here, and it wasn't simply company he was missing. It was, specifically, Athos.

Feeling a little like he was trespassing, Porthos walked into Athos' bedroom. He checked the wardrobe and chest of drawers, satisfied himself that Athos could only have the clothes he was stood up in. Surely, he would come back eventually?

On impulse, Porthos rifled through the drawers of the desk, and to his relief found Athos' passport. Well, he'd hardly leave without that. 

He flipped it open curiously and read the name. Olivier d'Athos. The truth had been here all the time. 

By the evening Athos still hadn't returned, and Porthos was fidgety. He was due to leave for Paris the day after tomorrow and realised he didn't even know the details of that. Presumably there were tickets somewhere, although probably online and in Athos' name.

His phone buzzed and he hauled it out quickly, hoping it was Athos. It wasn't. It was just a text from Aramis, asking him if he wanted to go for a drink.

Porthos texted back, declining, then sat there staring at his phone. If Athos was still in town and hadn't come back, then he was probably in a bar somewhere, drowning his sorrows. 

He snatched up his leather jacket and hurried out of the flat.

\--

Porthos found him in the fifth bar he tried. Athos was sitting alone at a table at the back of the room, staring blankly into nothingness, and Porthos bought a shot of whisky and went over. 

He wasn't sure Athos had clocked him, but as he lowered himself into the seat opposite, Athos didn't seem surprised. His eyes merely flickered over him for a second, then away again.

"This whisky's shit," Porthos said, by way of hello.

Athos glanced down at his own glass. "I hadn't noticed."

He was wearing the same clothes he'd walked out in, his eyes were red and his beard needed trimming. Porthos wondered if Athos had slept at all since he'd left, or if he'd just been drinking steadily the whole time.

"Come home," he said quietly, when they'd been sitting in silence for a minute or so. 

Athos didn't move, but his eyes flicked back up to Porthos' face. He said nothing though, and Porthos shifted awkwardly in his chair.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have pried. It was none of my business."

"No. It wasn't." Athos didn't sound resentful, just resigned. "But you're right. I should have told you. I imagined I could escape my past. Perhaps that was stupid of me."

Porthos shook his head. "No, it wasn't. Look, Athos, come home yeah? I never wanted you to go, I wasn't going to fire you. You're right, I was just being nosy. I never meant to drive you away."

Athos studied him silently for a moment. "I killed a man."

"I know."

"That doesn't bother you?"

Porthos swallowed the rest of the whisky and grimaced. "Are you intending to kill anyone else?"

Athos almost smiled. "I didn't intend to kill the first one," he said softly. 

"There you are then." Porthos folded his arms and glared at him. "Look, what do you want? A bonus? I'll pay you a fuckwit bonus for putting up with me. Or a raise. Do you want a raise?"

Athos sighed. "I don't want a raise."

"Then what do you want?"

"Right now? I want another drink."

Porthos rolled his eyes and grabbed their glasses, heading back up to the bar.

\--

By the time Athos consented to be dragged away from the bar, Porthos was feeling considerably unsteady on his feet. Apart from a slight slur to his voice Athos seemed to show no outward effects, despite the fact he'd possibly been drinking for twenty four hours longer, but didn't object to the arm Porthos draped around his shoulders for support as they walked home.

"You'll stay, right?" Porthos mumbled as they finally staggered in the door, half afraid that he'd wake up the next morning to find Athos had taken his things and cleared out.

"You really want me to?" Athos asked, his expression unreadable. 

Porthos nodded. "I really want you." He frowned, conscious that that sentence perhaps hadn't come out quite as he'd intended. By now they were standing in the doorway to his bedroom, and he realised he'd marched them through the flat to get here, his arm still around Athos. 

"Then I'll stay," Athos said softly. He was leaning back against the door post and Porthos was staring at him, trying to blink him into focus. 

Porthos nodded jerkily, his head feeling heavier than it should have done. "It's no fun without you," he blurted. "Need someone to keep me in line." He gave Athos a wonky smile, playing idly with the buttons of his shirt before realising what an inappropriately intimate gesture that was and drawing his hand back sharply. 

"Sorry. Bit drunk."

Athos smiled at him, properly smiled for the first time since Porthos had found him, and Porthos broke into a relieved grin. 

"Don't leave me again?" Porthos asked plaintively, still half-worried that Athos would change his mind.

"I won't. I promise." Athos reached out and rested his palm against Porthos' cheek. "Go to bed," he told him. "You look like you need the sleep." 

Before he could withdraw his hand Porthos had covered it with his own, and curled his fingers into Athos' palm. Instinctively, hardly thinking about what he was doing, he followed it up by pressing a kiss to the inside of Athos' wrist. 

Athos didn't move, just looked at him with startled eyes. Porthos stared back at him, still holding onto his hand. 

Porthos had never been very good at impulse control. Registering only that Athos wasn't pulling away and that his eyes were dark with a desire that seemed to match his own, Porthos lunged forward and kissed him. 

After a shocked second, with a shuddering breath Athos kissed him back, and a moment later they stumbled through the doorway into Porthos' bedroom, clinging to each other in sudden desperation. 

"Athos. God, Athos, I want you." Porthos pulled them both down upon the bed, moaning into Athos' mouth and fumbling at his clothes.

Athos helped undress them both, surrendering to Porthos' drunkenly clumsy passion with a groan of approval. "Oh, God, yes." 

Lubed up and hard, and not noticeably impaired by the amount he'd drunk, Porthos took him vigorously, while Athos wrapped his arms tightly around him and let his eyes flutter closed, trying to memorise every fleeting moment. 

\--

The next morning Porthos woke with a pounding head but a fuzzy sense of wellbeing, at least until he realised he was alone in the bed. Yawning, he scratched idly at his belly, listening carefully to make sure Athos was at least somewhere in the flat. 

The distant clink of crockery suggested he was in the kitchen, and Porthos relaxed, rolling out of bed and shuffling into the en suite for a piss. Pulling on a pair of silk boxers, he was about to go in search of Athos when the bedroom door swung open and he came in.

Fully dressed, with hair and beard once more immaculate, he set a single bone china cup of coffee down on the bedside table and nodded cautiously to Porthos. 

"Good morning."

Flummoxed at this stiff reserve, Porthos stared at him. "Athos?"

"Yes?"

"What are you playing at?"

Athos shook his head. "I'm not sure what you mean. Can I get you anything else?"

"Athos! Stop fucking around." Porthos marched over and grabbed him by the lapel. "What's the matter?"

"You offered me my job back." Athos said quietly, not meeting his eyes. "I'm doing it."

"Yeah, but - last night?" Porthos protested, hating himself for the way it sounded so needy. 

"What about it?"

"We slept together!" 

"Yes, well. It's my job to keep you happy, isn't it?" 

Porthos drew back as if he'd been slapped, then bunched his fist in Athos' shirt. "Oh no. You're not laying that on me. Athos, for fuck's sake tell me you didn't sleep with me just because you thought that's what I wanted?"

Athos hesitated, then sighed. "No. Alright. I wanted it too."

Porthos let out a relieved breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. "Didn't it mean anything to you?" he asked bitterly.

"I was drunk. We both were."

"Athos!"

Athos finally met his gaze. "Porthos, in all the time I've known you, you have never slept with any one person more than twice," he said neutrally. "If I am to continue working for you, we can't go down this road. It simply won't work."

"But - yeah, but - " Porthos let his hands fall away, staring at Athos in consternation. "It could?" he said lamely. 

Athos shook his head briskly. "It wouldn't. You know I'm right."

Porthos scrunched up his face in a scowl. "Yeah? Well fuck you then." Athos took this as his cue to leave, and Porthos yelled at him as he walked away. "Fuck you Athos! Fuck you!" 

As soon as Athos had gone Porthos threw himself down on the bed and buried his face in the pillow, fighting the ridiculous urge to burst into tears of thwarted frustration. 

He lay there wallowing in self-pity for half an hour, then dragged himself up and went for a shower. The hot water went some way towards clearing his head, and he conceded reluctantly that Athos was probably right. He didn't have a great track record at relationships, and what was he intending to do anyway, set Athos up as some sort of kept man? That way lay only resentment for both of them, surely. 

Stepping out of the shower he dried himself off and deliberately dropped his wet towel on the floor, only to pick it up again a second later with a cluck of annoyance. There was no point in being childish for the sake of it.

Once dressed, he sought out Athos in the kitchen, who looked up at him warily. 

"I'm sorry," Athos said quietly before Porthos could get a word out. "I didn't mean to insult you."

Porthos shook his head, feeling guilty. "I'm sorry I yelled at you," he said. "You were right. It wouldn't work. It was what it was, eh?"

Athos nodded, visibly relaxing.

"So - we're okay?" Porthos ventured, and Athos nodded again, rather more confidently.

"Of course."

"Good." 

They stared at each other a little helplessly. 

"I'll - bring you some breakfast then?" Athos suggested, and Porthos managed a smile.

"Yeah. That'd be nice. Thanks." He hesitated a second longer, then walked out.

Athos watched him go, then closed his eyes and sighed.

\--

The next couple of days passed in a wary sort of truce, where they were polite to each other but reserved. Fortunately this coincided with the trip back to Paris, so there was plenty to occupy them in neutral conversation.

Sitting opposite each other on the train north, Porthos watched Athos' reflection in the window glass, and wondered what he was thinking. He couldn't bring himself to regret what they'd done, but wondered if Athos did. 

It had come as something of a shock to realise he was quite as bad as Athos had painted him, and Porthos had become a little defensive on the subject. He just liked sex, that was all. There was nothing wrong with sleeping around. He was always careful, and never promised his lovers any more than he intended to give. 

That was the problem, he realised, with an uncomfortable prickle of self-awareness. Athos had spent years calling taxis for Porthos' departing conquests. Porthos could hardly blame him for not wanting to be trapped in a similar situation with no exit strategy. 

Ensconced in the Paris townhouse at least they had a little more room, and Porthos immediately threw himself back into city life with a vengeance. Night after night he went out to an endless string of parties, dinners and gatherings, but somehow he always found himself coming home alone.

Eventually this began to annoy him. It hadn't been for lack of willing partners - Porthos was one of the most eligible and generous bachelors on the scene, and there were plenty of people, both men and women, who'd have happily fallen into bed with him at the drop of a hat. No, his prolonged dry spell seemed to stem from within, in that he always seemed to be searching for something in particular and never quite finding it.

It took one embarrassingly messy dream during an afternoon nap to make him realise what that was. 

Showering irritably afterwards, Porthos tried valiantly to ignore the fact he'd just had an extremely vivid wet dream involving Athos. It didn't work, and he marched out into the hallway, stark naked and increasingly cross.

"Athos!"

"Yes, sir?" Athos appeared from a nearby room and merely raised an eyebrow at Porthos' state of undress.

"I'm going out tonight. Change my sheets for me would you? I'll be bringing company back."

Athos' expression didn't alter. "Of course."

"And lay out some clothes for me. Whatever you think will serve me best in pulling, eh?" Porthos added unkindly. 

"A man or a woman?" Athos asked without flinching, and Porthos frowned at him.

"Does it make a difference?"

"Of course it makes a difference."

"Oh. Well." Porthos considered. He wanted somebody as unlike Athos as possible. "A woman, then."

"Very well." Athos moved past him towards the airing cupboard, and Porthos stalked back into his bedroom. Making a point was all to the good, but he was starting to get cold.

\--

"How do I look?" Porthos didn't always go with Athos' choice of outfit for him, but tonight he had, in some perverse way hoping it would hurt him.

Athos paused before answering, straightening the handkerchief in Porthos' breast pocket and letting his hands linger a second too long on Porthos' chest. 

"Edible," he breathed, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on Porthos' jacket.

Porthos felt his breath hitch in his throat. It had been almost too quiet for him to catch, and he wondered if he'd been meant to hear it or not. 

For a split second he contemplated abandoning his plans for the night and just dragging Athos into bed instead. But the moment passed, and he pulled away from Athos' hands, heading towards the door. It didn't change anything. It still wouldn't work.

"Porthos." 

"Yeah?" Porthos kind of hated himself for the eagerness with which he swung round, but Athos' face was still expressionless.

"I was intending to go out tonight myself. Would that be alright?"

Porthos blinked at him. Athos hardly ever went out, and he wondered with an abrupt jealousy if he had a date. Maybe Porthos wasn't the only one trying to work something out of his system.

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess."

"Thank you."

Porthos nodded hesitantly. "Will you - "

"I'll be here when you return," Athos said quickly. "I'll make sure I'm back by midnight."

"Yeah. Right. Thanks." Porthos felt briefly guilty. There was technically nothing stopping Athos staying out all night if he wanted - or even from bringing someone home, although in three years he never had. Had Porthos' declared intention to bring company screwed up Athos' plans for the night he wondered? And why should he care if it had? He paid the man enough.

Porthos left the house feeling more confused than ever.

\--

A night of cocktails, gambling and loud music put Porthos back in a more cheerful frame of mind, and when he banged into the house at two AM with a stunning blonde on his arm, he was thinking of nothing more complicated than unzipping her gold sequinned dress in the shortest time possible.

A lingering spirit of devilry though lead him to call out for Athos as they walked into the living room. Having asked him to be on hand Porthos figured he might as well make use of the man.

Movement in the doorway behind them made Porthos look round, meaning to ask Athos to fix them drinks, but the words died on his lips. Athos was wearing a tuxedo, black tie hanging loose around his neck over a pristine white shirt, the top button unfastened. 

Mouth suddenly dry, Porthos couldn't help his gaze travelling all the way down, and he realised that despite the formal wear, Athos was barefoot. The juxtaposition was at once somehow incredibly sexy and oddly adorable, and Porthos wasn't sure if his jolt of reaction to the sight originated from his groin or his heart.

"Athos." It took him two attempts to get the name out, and had to lick his lips. "This, er. This is Shirley," he said, abruptly remembering the woman on his arm.

She looked at him crossly. "Cicely," she corrected. 

"Good evening." Athos smiled at her, entirely genuinely as far as Porthos could make out. "Can I get you anything mademoiselle?"

"A coffee would be nice, if that's possible?" 

"Of course. I won't be a minute. Porthos?"

"Eh? Oh. Whisky for me." 

Athos nodded and went out, vaguely aware of Cicely elbowing Porthos in the ribs and hissing " _please!_ " in an affronted sort of tone. He walked into the kitchen, still smiling to himself. Say what you would about Porthos' conquests, Athos had to admit that for the most part he generally liked them.

An hour later, and Porthos and Cicely were still in the living room. Athos had refrained from going to bed just in case he was needed, but was frankly puzzled by the fact they were still up. 

He wasn't the only one, and Cicely was making more and more overt suggestions as to what they could be doing more productively with the time.

Porthos wasn't entirely sure why he was suddenly prevaricating, although when Athos came in to clear away the empty cafetiere and ask pointedly if they required anything else, he realised the answer with a sinking heart.

"Yes," he said quietly. "Could you call a taxi for Cicely please?"

Both Athos and Cicely looked at him with matching expressions of surprise, and if it hadn't been so humiliating he'd have laughed. 

"Of course." Athos withdrew to the hallway, and Cicely turned to Porthos with a look of puzzlement. 

"Porthos?" 

"It's late, you must be tired." He took her hand and kissed it. "I'd ask you to stay, but we've only just met and I would never presume."

"Oh. That's, er - I mean - you can presume if you like?" Cicely protested, but Porthos shook his head with an apologetic smile. 

"I should hate you to think I was that kind of man," he said kindly, despite the fact he had a robust reputation for being exactly that kind of man. "Athos will see you out. I hope we meet again."

Mildly embarrassed and hiding it with a haughty dignity, Cicely watched Porthos go up the stairs to bed, and turned to find Athos was holding her coat.

"I'll see you home," he said softly, sensing her bewilderment, and cross with Porthos for essentially throwing her out in the early hours. "The taxi should be here shortly."

\--

Porthos, having stripped off his jacket and freshened up in the bathroom, was bemused to come back downstairs and discover that Athos appeared to have left with Cicely. 

He spent the next half an hour pacing the house indignantly, trying to work out if Athos had taken advantage of his change of heart to get lucky himself.

When the door finally opened and Athos came back in, Porthos rounded on him.

"Where the bloody hell have you been?"

Athos just looked at him. "Seeing Cicely safely back to her hotel," he said impassively. 

Porthos checked himself, abruptly ashamed. "Like I should have, you mean," he muttered.

"Exactly like you should have." Athos took off his shoes again and started walking up the stairs with them dangling from one hand.

"Why aren't you wearing any fucking socks?" Porthos called after him.

"Because I was going to bed when you came in," Athos said tiredly. "I assume I can complete the activity now? Or do you need me for something else? Escort someone else halfway across the city perhaps?"

Porthos ran up the stairs after him, wound up and still more than half drunk on cocktails and whisky.

"Well, like you say," he growled, pushing into Athos' personal space. "It is your job to keep me happy, right?"

"What do you want, Porthos?" Athos asked exasperatedly. "Stop playing games."

"What do I want? I want you to take your clothes off and get into my bed," Porthos hissed, pushing his face close to Athos'. "That's what I want."

Athos moved his head back a little, possibly away from the alcohol on Porthos' breath. "Fine." It was a sigh, nothing more.

"Go on then," said Porthos, tone and eyes hard. "Do your job Athos. Keep me happy." 

Athos turned and walked the rest of the way up the stairs without speaking. Porthos half expected him to keep going to his own room on the next floor, but Athos walked into Porthos' bedroom as directed and started undressing. 

Feeling guilty but aroused, Porthos hastily stripped off his own clothes and joined Athos on the bed, pushing him down into the clean sheets and climbing on top of him. 

"I'm going to fuck you," Porthos announced, running a hand up his already hard cock. 

"Are you? Or are you just going to talk about it?" Athos drawled, lying back and looking bored.

Porthos snarled, sprawling full length over him and pushing Athos' legs apart, shoving his cock between them. Athos, too, was just as hard despite his appearance of resigned surrender.

Breathing heavily, Porthos studied Athos' face from just inches away, propped up on his hands either side of Athos' head. 

"Oh for Christ's sake!" Porthos' nerve broke, and he stared at Athos in conflicted agony. "You can't think I'd really - Athos, I would never make you - force you to - if you don't want to do this, for God's sake tell me!"

For the first time Athos' expression softened and he reached up, sliding a hand behind Porthos' head and drawing him closer.

"Shut up and kiss me," he whispered.

As soon as their mouths met, some of the tension went out of both men. Negotiating themselves to this point might have been fraught, but now they were in each other's arms, to a certain degree the posturing could be left behind. The readiness with which Athos opened up to him reassured Porthos that however spiky his demeanour, Athos really did want this as much as he did, and the sex that followed was as satisfying as it was lively.

Nevertheless, when Porthos woke the next morning he wasn't surprised to find himself once more alone in the bed. Washed and dressed, he found Athos in his customary place in the kitchen, and nodded to him.

"Morning." 

"Morning." Athos nodded back, and they exchanged cautious smiles, which strengthened as each accepted the other wasn't going to make it an issue. 

"Do I owe you an apology?" Porthos asked warily, accepting a cup of coffee. However mutually agreeable the outcome, he knew his behaviour beforehand had been questionable.

"Not in the least," Athos assured him. "Although possibly to Cicely."

"Yeah. You could be right," Porthos mused. "Maybe I should go round and give her one then, eh?" he added mischievously, and Athos' lips twitched. 

"I find flowers always make a good impression."

"You're right. Have some sent to her hotel, would you?" Porthos grinned at him, unabashed. "And then tell me which one it is."

\--

To Porthos' relief, the fact that he'd slept with Athos twice now didn't seem to be a problem for either of them, with life carrying on much as before. Having got it out of his system a little he resumed his habits of cheerfully sleeping around, although somehow Porthos never brought his partners back any more, instead frequently spending the night away from home. 

He didn't examine his motives for this too closely, telling himself it was just how things fell. Athos, for his part, never made mention of these absences other than to ensure Porthos was well fed and comfortable when he finally rolled in the morning after.

Somehow though, Porthos found these liaisons to be less fulfilling than they once were. He still enjoyed the sex, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something missing. Maybe he was getting old, he thought ruefully. Maybe before he knew it, he'd be staying in of an evening and wearing a pair of tartan slippers. Maybe he should buy a dog. Start smoking a pipe. 

Sitting at a gaming table in his rolled up shirt-sleeves, Porthos chuckled at the image. He could imagine how much Athos would complain if he bought a dog. He'd be the one who ended up walking it, for one thing.

The realisation that all his idle fantasies of a more settled life still featured Athos, as opposed to an actual wife or partner made Porthos shift uncomfortably in his seat and reach for his glass. Now he tried, he couldn't imagine life without Athos. But he could hardly guarantee the man stayed with him forever. One day Athos would surely fall in love with someone and want to move out.

Not that Athos ever showed much interest in dating. Now they were back in Paris he did occasionally go out, and Porthos assumed the man had his own friends here, but as far as he knew Athos wasn't seeing anyone. In fact, as far as he knew, the only person Athos had slept with the whole time he'd worked for him, had been him.

Porthos sighed, realising he'd just lost a whole chunk of money predominantly because he hadn't been concentrating. He threw in his hand and got up from the table, cashing in his few remaining chips and reclaiming his coat.

It was raining outside, but he walked home through the empty streets, pausing once to break a small branch off a winter flowering bush.

"Athos?" Porthos stood in the hallway, listening for signs of life. He assumed Athos was at home, the lights were on and there was a lingering smell of something savoury that suggested Athos had at least dined here. It was just past one in the morning, and he supposed Athos might well be asleep.

"Porthos? Is that you?" Athos appeared on the stairs, barefoot and sleep tousled, wearing dark blue pyjamas. "Sorry, I didn't think you'd be home tonight, I'd have waited up."

"It's alright. Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." Porthos waited in the hall as Athos came down towards him, then brought his hand out from behind his back and thrust the branch at him.

Athos raised an enquiring eyebrow, and took it gingerly. 

"You said flowers make a good impression," Porthos explained uncertainly, and Athos looked like he was trying not to laugh.

"Are you drunk?"

"No!" Porthos considered. "Yes. A bit."

Athos smiled, considering the wilting floral offering with a look of puzzled amusement. "I'm not sure I ever suggested saying it with a small act of horticultural vandalism," he murmured. "But thank you for the thought. I'm touched. And slightly suspicious. What have you done?"

"Nothing!" Porthos said indignantly. "Why should I have done anything?"

"I don't know. You've never felt the need to steal me flowers before. You haven't pranged the car have you?" Athos was rather fond of the Jag that Porthos kept garaged in Paris, and took his chauffeuring duties very seriously, mostly because he'd witnessed how Porthos drove.

"No! I just - wanted you to have it," Porthos said awkwardly. It had been an impulse, and one he was now regretting. "You're just - always there for me. And I never tell you I appreciate it."

Athos looked at him in astonishment. "Christ, you're further gone than I imagined. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to get into my knickers."

Porthos looked shifty, and Athos snorted. "Let me guess, you're drunk and maudlin and you want a shag." 

"No." Porthos looked mutinous, then slightly hopeful. "Maybe?"

Athos sighed. "I'm not your personal sex toy you know. Nor am I a tediously reliable back-up plan."

Porthos looked uncomfortable. "I didn't say anything like that."

"I know." Athos sighed again, and took his hand. "Come on then. Why not."

\--

Sitting on his bed, Porthos reached out to unfasten the buttons of Athos' pyjamas with hands that seemed annoyingly unsteady, considering the relatively small amount he'd drunk.

"I'm sorry," he said in an undertone, feeling horribly like he was taking advantage, despite Athos' amenable and immediate consent.

"Don't be," Athos said. "Please. It makes it worse."

Porthos looked up at him then, stricken, but Athos shook his head, closing his hands over Porthos' fingers. 

"Don't," he repeated softly. "It's alright. Just take me."

Porthos did so, guilty desire outweighing his misgivings. He took solace from the fact that Athos was at least an enthusiastic participant whenever they slept together; however outwardly resigned he might seem at times there was nothing passive about him in bed.

Afterwards, Porthos was drifting off to sleep when he sensed Athos carefully sliding out of the bed. He wriggled forwards and wrapped his arms firmly around Athos' waist.

"Don't go," he mumbled. "Stay with me?"

Athos said nothing, but settled back against him without protest. They fell asleep in each other's arms, and stayed that way until the morning.

\--


	3. Chapter 3

Porthos cracked open a bleary eye and registered with both satisfaction and embarrassment that Athos was still lying next to him. 

Athos, too, was awake, and watching Porthos in turn with a wariness that suggested he was ready to bolt at the first sign Porthos regretted his presence.

"Morning." Porthos gave him a fuzzy grin. "I really am going to have to give you a raise at this rate."

It was clearly somehow the wrong thing to say, and Athos gave him a pained smile and pushed back the covers. It wasn't the full-scale flight Porthos had feared, but Athos pulled his crumpled pyjamas back on and excused himself with a dignified bow of the head.

Porthos rolled over to where the sheets were still warm from Athos' body, and sighed. 

When he eventually made his way downstairs, Athos made no reference to the previous night and Porthos followed his lead, grateful at being allowed to avoid a potentially awkward discussion. In the cold light of day he concluded that Athos probably saw him as a confounded pain in the arse - occasionally literally - and he dearly hoped that Athos at least had never agreed to sleep with him out of a sense of obligation. 

The one thing that gave him hope he hadn't fucked things up too badly was when he caught sight of the vase on the kitchen windowsill. At some point since last night, Porthos realised with surprise, Athos had retrieved the flowering branch he'd given him, and carefully put it in water.

\--

The following week was Porthos' birthday, and as was his custom he threw a party. It was expected of those in his circle to occasionally host everyone in any case, and it was an event he always looked forward to. He even took a hand in the planning, sitting with Athos to pore over menu choices and decorations, even if he subsequently left Athos to deal with the more tedious business of arranging caterers and supplies. 

"You should wear that tux of yours tonight," Porthos suggested slyly on the morning of the party, helping Athos lug crates of wine into the kitchen from the delivery van outside. He certainly wasn't averse to seeing the man in it again.

"What, so I look like a proper waiter you mean?" Athos retorted, and Porthos let the matter drop, although to his secret delight that evening Athos quietly came down wearing it.

Porthos' cheerful mood was to take a slight knock an hour later. The party was just starting to get going when Aramis arrived - with Rochefort in tow.

"Porthos! Happy birthday." Aramis kissed him on both cheeks, and waved a hand at the man behind him. "I hope you don't mind, I thought he could help Athos out. Poor man's bound to be run ragged looking after us lot, eh?"

"Yeah. That's - thoughtful of you," Porthos said faintly. He could already tell Athos was standing just behind him, could practically feel the icy chill. "Isn't that thoughtful, Athos?" he murmured weakly.

"Incredibly." Athos locked eyes with Rochefort, then sighed. "Come on. I'll show you where everything is."

Rochefort followed him into the kitchen, looking him over critically. "Well. Don't you look a part. Sorry, the part," he amended with a smirk. Athos just bit his tongue and counted to ten, wondering if anyone would notice if he locked Rochefort in the freezer for the night.

To Athos' relief, for most of the evening Rochefort avoided him. The man was no noticeable help, but Athos didn't care about that, he was just counting down the hours until he could see him out of the door again. Otherwise the party was a rousing success, and people were just starting to drift home in the small hours when Athos noticed Rochefort sneaking up the stairs.

Frowning, he followed him. It was possible he'd been sent to find someone's coat, but when Rochefort continued on up to the second floor where Athos' rooms were, he gritted his teeth. The man was clearly snooping.

"Rochefort!" Athos caught up with him just as Rochefort had his hand on the door to Athos' own bedroom. "What do you think you're doing up here?"

Rochefort spun round, then gave an unpleasant smile when he saw who it was. 

"I was just looking for the servant's facilities," he said, emphasising the word and making it clear he felt himself above Athos. He styled himself executive assistant, Athos seemed to remember, and certainly half the jobs Athos carried out Rochefort would feel were beneath him.

"You can use the guest bathroom on the ground floor, like everyone else," Athos said, cold but polite. "You have no reason for being up here."

Rochefort studied him, making no move to leave. "I must say, I was surprised to find you still working for Porthos," he said silkily. 

"Oh? And why is that?" Athos asked, voice just as smooth but suddenly considerably more dangerous. He stepped forward, and Rochefort took a step back without meaning to.

"You don't scare me!" he blurted. "I know what you did, Athos."

Athos raised an eyebrow. "Do you? In which case the preceding sentence seems a little naive." He took another step forwards and Rochefort retreated again, bumping up against the banister with a start of surprise.

"You won't hurt me," Rochefort blustered, suddenly feeling he might have spoken rather rashly.

"What makes you say that?" Athos asked. "Like you say. You know my history."

"You'd lose your job this time for sure!" Rochefort saw that made Athos hesitate, and smirked. "I'm surprised he kept you on before, after everything I found out for him. Or maybe he was just too busy whoring himself out to care?"

Caring very little about Rochefort's opinion of him, the insult to Porthos was too much and Athos snapped, lunging forwards and seizing hold of Rochefort's suit. With a sharp twist and a heave, Rochefort suddenly found himself dangling head down in mid-air, two storeys above the tiled entrance hall. 

The black and white chequered floor swam dizzily before his eyes and Rochefort let out a strangled scream. Below, Aramis and Porthos suddenly ran into view, staring upwards in shock.

"What the bloody hell's he doing?" Aramis cried. Porthos was already running up the stairs. 

"Athos!" He drew level, staring at the spectacle of Athos holding Rochefort out over empty space by the ankle, apparently without effort. 

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't drop him," Athos said, staring at Rochefort, who had his eyes screwed shut and was trying desperately not to move in case Athos lost his grip in more ways than one. 

Porthos stared at him. "Well - it'd be you that had to clear up the mess for a start," he said. 

Athos blinked, looking over at him and seeming to come to himself a little. 

"Put him down Athos," Porthos said gently, and Rochefort made an alarmed noise. "I mean, pull him up," Porthos amended, just in case Athos was feeling uncomfortably literal.

Athos sighed and did as he was told, grabbing Rochefort's other leg and yanking him back to safety where he immediately crumpled into a whimpering heap on the floor. Athos looked at him in disgust, then shot a guilty look at Porthos before turning silently and walking into his room, closing the door quietly behind him.

\--

Twenty minutes later the door opened and Porthos walked in. Athos was sitting on the bed in his shirt sleeves, head in his hands. 

Porthos came over and sat down next to him.

"I'm sorry." Athos' tone was lifeless. "I lost my temper. I should have known better." He hung his head, staring down at his hands. "If you want my resignation - "

"What is it with you and resigning?" Porthos frowned. "You don't get off that easily. Rochefort pissed himself for a start, I ain't scrubbing that carpet meself."

Athos lifted his head and studied his face, a spark of hope in his expression for the first time.

"You don't want me to go?"

"Course I don't," Porthos said gruffly. "Stop trying to bloody walk out on me, okay?" He sighed. "He probably deserved it. I guess he pushed your buttons. And he wouldn't have known any of it if I hadn't asked him to look, so I s'pose it's as much my fault as anyone's." 

Athos was silent for a moment. "Did he really piss himself?" he asked finally.

Porthos smirked. "Yeah. On reflection, maybe we should just change the carpet. I'll let you pick the colour if you like, you've got better taste than me."

"Debatable," Athos said softly.

"Oi! Was that meant to be some kind of insult?" Porthos demanded, but he was smiling. "I could still make you scrub it."

Athos relaxed slightly for the first time. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I should never have lost control like that."

Porthos shrugged. "If you want the truth, it's kind've hot when you go all feral," he admitted.

Athos looked at him, initial surprise fading into consideration. "Are they still here?" 

"Nah." Porthos held his gaze. "Everyone's gone. Nobody here but us."

Gradually they leaned towards each other, finally coming together in a slow kiss that burned with intensity. They sank back upon the bed, already reaching for each other.

\--

Afterwards, Porthos wrapped his arms firmly around Athos and nuzzled contentedly into his neck. 

"This is good," he murmured. "We're already in your bed, it means you can't run away."

Athos gave him a sad smile. "I never want to run away," he sighed.

"And yet you always do."

Athos said nothing, just frowned slightly, but as he settled down to sleep his expression was thoughtful.

\--

In the morning, Porthos woke to find himself once more alone and groaned. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, wondering what he'd said wrong this time and whether he should get up and let Athos have his room back.

Before he could make his mind up there was a clink of crockery from the hallway and the door opened to admit Athos, clad in pyjamas and carrying two mugs. A little hesitantly, he held one out to Porthos, who quickly sat up and took it.

"Thank you." He realised Athos still looked uncertain and set it down on the bedside table, pulling back the covers and patting the bed encouragingly. Mildly embarrassed, Athos climbed back in with him, smiling sheepishly.

"This is nice," Porthos declared, settling back with his coffee and wriggling closer so his arm was pressed snugly against Athos'.

"Yes." Athos sipped his tea, and Porthos looked sideways at him.

"Would you rather I pissed off?" he asked quietly. 

Athos stared into his mug. "No."

"Well. That's alright then." Porthos shuffled down deeper in the bed and yawned. "What's the carnage like downstairs?" 

"Not too bad," Athos conceded, finally relaxing enough to enjoy Porthos' company. "Nobody broke anything this year."

"You nearly broke Rochefort," Porthos sniggered. 

"He was snooping," Athos said, reluctant to admit that it had been Porthos' honour he'd been defending. "I found him trying to get into my room."

"What? Little shit!" Porthos looked startled. After a moment's reflection he grinned. "I'm in your room. You're not going to dangle me off the landing are you?"

Athos produced a reluctant smile. "Not unless you try and make me clean up Rochefort's piss stain," he offered, and Porthos gave a delighted bellow of laughter.

"Come here," he mumbled, pulling Athos towards him and blinking lazily. "I've made an executive decision."

"Oh yes? What about?" Athos let Porthos kiss him, feeling him smile against his lips.

"Those pyjamas need to go."

\--

They lingered in bed for an enjoyable and uncomplicated further couple of hours, after which Athos cooked them both a large and restorative breakfast. They'd finally got around to clearing up the debris from the party when the rattle of the letterbox heralded the day's post. 

Clutching a binbag in one hand, Athos went to collect it. A couple were for Porthos and clearly invitations, while the rest were addressed to him, and probably invoices for one thing or another. He shuffled idly through them, intending to set them aside and deal with them later when one envelope stopped him in his tracks, for the simple reason it was addressed not to Athos de la Fere like the others, but to Olivier d'Athos. 

When Athos hadn't come back after a few minutes, Porthos followed him out into the hall to see what was wrong. He found Athos staring at a letter in his hand, looking pale and rather stunned.

"Athos? Everything alright?" Porthos frowned, concerned by the way Athos had gone from remarkably cheerful a few minutes earlier to looking positively ill. "Bad news?"

Athos looked up slowly, as if surprised to see him there. "My father," he said distantly. "He's - passed away."

"Oh. I'm sorry." Porthos was taken aback. He hadn't realised Athos even had any family. An orphan and only child himself, he had no family to talk about, and it had consequently never struck him as odd that Athos had never mentioned anyone either. Rather belatedly, he felt he should probably have asked before now. "Were you close?" he asked hesitantly.

"No." Athos still sounded distant; shocked rather than upset. "We hadn't spoken for years. Now I suppose we never will."

"Oh. Right." Porthos searched for something comforting to say. "Do you have any other family?"

Athos shook his head. "My father was the last." He pulled himself together. "I'll - need to go home," he said apologetically. "There'll be things I need to sort out."

"Yes, yes, of course. Take as long as you need," Porthos said hurriedly. 

"Thank you." Athos was still staring at the letter, and Porthos tentatively reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder. 

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. Yes, sorry, it's - just been a bit of a shock," Athos admitted. 

"Is there anything I can do?" 

Athos looked up as if about to speak, but stayed silent. Porthos held his gaze and nodded encouragingly. "I mean it. If there's anything - any way I can help? I'd like to."

Athos hesitated, then took a breath. "Would you - would you come with me?" he asked.

Porthos blinked in surprise. "Yes. Yes, of course, if that's what you want?"

"I think - I'm not sure I could bear to go back there alone," Athos breathed.

"Then I'll come. Of course I will." Porthos nodded firmly. "Can you make the arrangements? Is it far?" Suddenly realising he had no idea if Athos' father had even been in the country, but Athos shook his head.

"Couple of hours' drive, that's all." Looking guilty, as if such a short distance shouldn't have been such an insurmountable gulf.

"That's alright then. We can take the Jag. Go tomorrow, if you like?"

Athos nodded, looking relieved. "Thank you," he said in a small voice, and Porthos had to resist the urge to pull him into a hug, not sure that it would be welcomed.

For the rest of the day Athos busied himself cleaning the house and returning it to the pristine state it had been pre-party. Porthos insisted they could hire in a cleaning team and that he didn't have to worry about it, but Athos declared it would take his mind off things, so in the end Porthos left him alone.

In the evening they ate together in the kitchen, and Porthos was just working up the courage to ask Athos if he'd like some company overnight, just for comfort's sake, when Athos got to his feet and declared he was going to have an early night.

Forestalled, Porthos let him go, deciding it was probably for the best. 

\--

The following day, with overnight bags packed, Athos drove them out of the city. For the most part he drove in silence, lost in his own thoughts, and Porthos didn't like to break into them.

"So what's it like?" he ventured finally, when they stopped for a bite to eat with about half an hour left to go. "Where you grew up?"

Athos considered his words. "Fairly - rural?" he said finally, then sighed. "You'll see, I guess."

The rest of the journey passed quickly, and Porthos looked out with interest at the pretty village they were driving through, assuming that Athos would stop somewhere here. To his surprise Athos kept going, driving out the other side and on for another mile or so before pulling in by a set of huge wrought iron gates.

Some way beyond Porthos could see the roof of a substantial chateau, and looked at Athos in confusion. Athos avoided his gaze and lowered the window to press an intercom on one of the gate pillars.

It crackled with what was from Porthos' side of the car an unintelligible response, but Athos leaned out and said simply, "It's Olivier." A moment later the gates slowly ground open before them, and Athos put the car back into gear and moved on up the drive.

"So - is this is where you grew up?" Porthos asked hesitantly, as the large house loomed into view.

"Yes."

Porthos rather expected him to drive round the back somewhere, but Athos pulled up in front of the main entrance and got out. "Coming?" he asked, grabbing his bag from the back.

"Uh - yeah." Porthos shouldered his own and hastily followed Athos up the steps.

"Well. This is it." Athos gestured around him rather helplessly. "Welcome home."

Porthos turned in a slow circle, taking in the impressive entrance hall and the huge staircase curving away to the upper floors. "Why do I get the feeling I'm missing something here?" he asked.

Athos sighed heavily. "My father - was the Comte de la Fere," he said. "Now, I suppose I am." 

Before Porthos could form a reply, a white-haired old man appeared from a doorway and scurried across to them, beaming. 

"Master Olivier! How good to see you back here at last." 

"Hello Renard." Athos clasped the man's hands in both of his and smiled at him. "I wish I could say it was good to be back. But I'm glad to see you."

"And in such sad circumstances," said Renard, bowing solemnly. He cast an inquisitive glance at Porthos, and Athos cleared his throat. 

"Porthos, this is Monsieur Renard, my father's retainer. Renard, this is my - " Athos faltered, stumped by the most appropriate term. Boss? Friend? Lover? "This is Porthos du Vallon," he amended.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance sir," said Renard with a smile. "Will you be needing a second room made up?"

Athos flushed scarlet. "Uh, yes, please, if you would."

"Of course sir. I expect you would like some refreshments? I'll bring you some coffee. There is, I'm afraid, a certain amount of paperwork the solicitors have left for you. It's laid out in the study."

"Thank you." 

Renard scuttled off, and Athos reluctantly turned back to Porthos, who was looking at him with an expression somewhere between surprise and utter confusion.

"Are you telling me you've just inherited this place?" Porthos asked finally. Athos inclined his head, and Porthos gave a forced laugh. "Blimey. That must make you richer than me now!" 

Athos sighed. "Oh Porthos. I always was."

Not waiting for a response, Athos turned and walked away down the hall, before turning right and pushing through a pair of ornately painted doors. Porthos followed him at a distance through two more inner rooms before finally running him to ground in the study.

Athos was leaning over the desk, staring sightlessly at a slew of papers spread across the surface. He didn't look up as Porthos came in, so Porthos wandered around the room instead, staring at the antique furniture and ancient looking oil paintings. One wall held framed photographs, and he peered at each of them in turn until managing to pick out Athos as a small boy.

It was a family group, two adults that Porthos assumed were Athos' parents - and two little boys with matching smiles.

"Have you got a brother?" Porthos asked in surprise. Athos had told him he had no other family, but given that Athos' version of the truth appeared to be economical at best, he was prepared for anything.

"He died," Athos said quietly. "A skiing accident. He was only sixteen."

Porthos looked round to find Athos watching him. "I'm sorry."

"My mother died a year later. Everyone said it was of a broken heart." Athos looked down, his expression sombre. "It was just me and my father, for years." There was a framed photograph on the desk in front of him, and Athos suddenly slapped it face down with a crack.

Porthos jumped, frowning as Athos walked over to the window, leaning there against the frame as if in pain. He went to the desk and righted the photograph. He'd assumed it would be a picture of the late Comte, but instead it showed a young Athos, in a smart army uniform.

"He made me join up," Athos said bitterly, seeing Porthos looking at the picture. "There was - someone he wanted me to marry. Expected me to be the dutiful son, start producing heirs."

"You told him you were - ?" 

"A homosexual." Athos wrapped his arms around himself, as if cold. "He was furious. Insisted I enlist. I think he thought the army would somehow straighten me out."

Porthos gave a startled laugh. "Let me get this right. He thought surrounding you by fit young men in uniform would cure you of being gay?"

Athos managed a faint smile. "It's funny how some people's minds work, isn't it?" he said softly.

Porthos came over to stand in front of him, and as Athos looked up he leaned in and gently, deliberately, kissed him on the lips. "You're perfect just the way you are," he said quietly. 

"Thank you," Athos breathed, understanding it for what it was, not a romantic declaration, but a staunch gesture of support, man to man.

He sighed. "Oddly enough, I showed an aptitude for army life. Maybe it was just getting away from here, I don't know, but I was good at it. My father was even proud of me, for a while."

"Looks like he still was," Porthos ventured, nodding at the framed portrait shot. Athos though, shook his head.

"After what happened he never spoke to me again. Wouldn't even have me in the house. I rather assumed he would disinherit me, but it seems not, after all."

"What did happen?" Porthos asked awkwardly. "I mean - I know you killed someone? But I don't know the details."

Athos was silent for a moment. "I was drunk," he said finally. "We all were. I got into an argument with someone. I can't even remember how it started now, something stupid. It turned physical. Everyone around us was shouting, jeering, urging us on." He stared bleakly out of the window. "I never meant to kill him. It was an accident. I was just trying to restrain him. I had my arm around his neck. He slipped, on the sand." Athos shuddered. "I can still feel it," he whispered.

Porthos couldn't stand it any longer, he moved closer and pulled Athos into his arms. Athos clung to him, and for a moment they just stood there and held each other tightly.

"Sorry." Athos eventually pulled back, looking embarrassed. "Thank you." 

"What I don't get is how you ended up working for me," Porthos said, puzzled. 

"When they let me out, I just wanted to disappear," Athos admitted. "Become someone else. Hide where no one who knew me would ever think to look."

"Yeah, but - three years of picking up my pants?" Porthos persisted. "What was it, some sort of self-imposed punishment?"

Athos shook his head. "No, I enjoyed it. Mostly." He gave Porthos a crooked smile. 

"Hang on, your CV - "

"All bollocks," Athos admitted. "It's not like you ever checked my references."

Porthos gave a splutter of laughter. "You cheeky bastard. But - you're good at it?"

Athos shrugged. "Basic cuisine and organisational skills? I'm not amazing. I'm just better than you."

Porthos really did laugh then. When he stopped he pulled Athos back into his arms. "I disagree," he said quietly. "You are amazing."

Athos looked confused and Porthos frowned. "What is it?"

"I thought you'd be angry," Athos admitted quietly.

"What about?"

"All of this. I lied to you."

Porthos shrugged. "So? You're secretly posh, that's hardly devastating news." 

Athos gave him a watery smile. "I wanted to leave this all behind. I wanted to run away from what I'd done, but it turns out I still have to live with it every day of my life."

"You've done your time, Athos. You can stop punishing yourself now," Porthos said softly. 

"Can I?" Athos sighed tiredly, and Porthos couldn't help himself, he leaned in and kissed him.

Athos yielded to him with a soft moan, and Porthos kissed him deeply. When they pulled apart though, Porthos stepped away with a frustrated noise, slapping his hand against the windowframe and resting his forehead on his balled up fist.

"Porthos? What's wrong?" Athos asked, taken aback.

"My timing sucks," Porthos sighed.

"What do you mean?"

Porthos turned back to look at him. "I like you, Athos," he said after a moment's reflection. "Like - really like you. And I should have told you before, except I didn't know you were about to lay all this on me. And to say it now - well it looks bad, doesn't it? Like I'm only saying it cause you're loaded or whatever."

Athos homed in on what he considered the only important part of that sentence.

"You like me?"

"Yeah. Kind've - a lot," Porthos admitted. "Look, I guess I've slept around a bit - "

"A bit!"

"Shut up!"

"Sorry." Athos looked amused. "Go on."

"Well, I guess there's always a part of you, right, that's wondering - is this the one? Is this the person that I want to spend the rest of my life with, the person I could live with? And I suppose I came to realise, you know? Why the answer was always no." Porthos came back across the room and gave Athos a tentative smile. "It was because I was already living with him. I was just too stupid to see it."

Athos looked stunned, searching Porthos' face for the confirmation he was serious. "You mean that?"

"Yeah." Porthos gave him a crumpled smile, managing to look hopeful and doubtful at the same time. "Look, I know I'm a pain in the arse, but - do you think you could ever feel the same way? I mean, you've already put up with me for years, so - why _have_ you put up with me?" Porthos asked, breaking off in confusion, as it finally really dawned on him that at no point had Athos needed the money.

Athos bit his lip, then made up his mind. 

"Because I love you," he breathed. 

"Athos." Porthos took hold of Athos' hands in his and stared at him. "Seriously?" 

Athos nodded, half afraid to speak, until Porthos started laughing. 

"Fuck. Athos - fuck." Porthos started laughing again, then seemed to realise this was both confusing and time wasting, and yanked Athos forwards into a kiss.

This time, they didn't pull away from each other, and only stopped kissing when they were interrupted by a dry cough from behind them.

Reluctantly letting each other go, they turned to find Renard standing in the doorway.

"I beg your pardon sirs, but coffee is served in the library."

"Thank you," Athos managed, clearing his throat. "Oh, er, Renard - if you haven't made up that second room yet - "

Porthos wrapped his arms around Athos' chest from behind, and leaned over his shoulder. "Don't bother," he finished for him, with a grin.

"Very good sirs." Renard gave a slight bow and retreated. Porthos nudged Athos.

"Well he doesn't seem to mind."

"Renard? Queer as a coot."

"Really?" Porthos looked surprised. He never really thought of old people as being gay. "You father didn't mind him then?"

"As far as I'm aware, my father never knew," Athos said dryly. "He was very good at not seeing what was right in front of his nose."

"You knew though?" Porthos asked, as they walked slowly through the house together.

Athos nodded. "Renard was once the source of some much needed fatherly advice to a confused teenager who thought there was something wrong with him," he said quietly.

Porthos slipped his arm through Athos', and smiled. "Maybe I should ask him for advice about you," he teased.

"Hopefully he'd tell you the same thing he once told me," Athos smiled. Porthos looked enquiring, and he gave in. "When you think you've found the one?" Porthos nodded, and Athos laughed. "Don't fuck it up."

\--

While Athos spent the afternoon going through the reams of paperwork created by his father's death, Porthos explored the house. It seemed that Athos' father and his few staff had lived in a very small part of it, and there were entire floors that had been shut up and abandoned. 

He wandered through eerily silent rooms, empty but for the occasional dustsheet-swathed piece of furniture that had been too large to remove, and shivered. He was glad to arrive back in the inhabited part and sit down for dinner with Athos in the cosy library.

Afterwards, with a winter storm lashing at the windows, they retired early. Porthos was tickled pink to discover that this meant sleeping in an actual four-poster bed, and wouldn't shut up about it.

"Maybe I should get one at home, what do you think?" he asked, lying back with his arms folded behind his head.

"Not if I have to hoover the drapes," Athos said darkly. Porthos sat up, suddenly stricken.

"Athos - you don't think - I mean - we're going home as a couple, right? You don't think I'm that much of a bastard that I'd..?" He stared at Athos in consternation, afraid that Athos had been assuming he would expect him to keep on working for him.

Athos lay down beside him, and just smiled. "Oh, so you'll be doing the hoovering from now on, will you?" was all he said. 

Porthos relaxed again, wriggling down beside him with a laugh. "Fuck it, we'll get a man in. I hear Rochefort's looking for a job."

"Ugh. If that's the alternative I'll do it myself," Athos retorted, then frowned. "Why, what happened?"

"Aramis called me yesterday. Apparently he caught Rochefort making a pass at his girlfriend, and threw him out."

Athos snorted. "Hang on, is this the girlfriend who's technically married to someone else?"

"Yeah, well. Apparently it's okay if it's Aramis doing it," Porthos grinned. He rolled over onto his side and looked serious for a second. "Athos - you are coming home with me, right? I mean - you don't want to stay here?"

"No. There's nothing for me here," Athos said, much to his relief. "I want to be wherever you are," he said quietly, and Porthos kissed him.

"I've been thinking," Porthos mused, when the kissing had temporarily paused again. "I might sell the Paris house."

"Really?" 

"Yeah. Like - maybe we could buy somewhere? Together? That belongs to both of us? What do you think, would you like that?" Porthos asked, a little anxiously. He hoped it didn't sound like he was spending Athos' money for him. 

To his relief, Athos smiled. "I would like that very much indeed," he said, snuggling down with his head on Porthos' shoulder.

Porthos held him close, and felt like he might burst with happiness. It was ridiculous, he thought. They hadn't even had sex, they'd just climbed into bed together and cuddled up. And he'd never been happier.

"Maybe we could get a dog," he said sleepily.

"Or a cat? I'd prefer a cat," Athos murmured, his fingers idly caressing Porthos' chest.

"We could have both?"

"Both is good."

Porthos kissed him. "How you feeling?" he asked. Athos had been subdued all evening, and Porthos hoped he was okay.

Athos considered. "Alright, I suppose. I'm glad you're here with me," he admitted. "I should have hated to come back alone. Too many ghosts."

Porthos felt for his hand and squeezed it. "I'm glad you asked me," he said. "How long will you have to stay? Will there be a funeral or something?"

"They've already had it," said Athos, and Porthos looked at him in surprise.

"Oh Athos." He took him back into his arms and hugged him. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Athos said indistinctly, his voice muffled from the fact it was buried in Porthos' neck. 

It patently wasn't fine, and Porthos held him close. 

"Why don't we go home tomorrow then?" Porthos suggested. "You can do paperwork just as easily in Paris."

Athos nodded gratefully. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm being a misery."

"No you're not. Don't be daft. Come on, let's turn out the light, you'll feel better for a good sleep."

\--

The next morning after breakfast Porthos packed up their things again while Athos went to gather the papers he would need, but when Porthos came to look for him Athos seemed to have vanished. He wasn't in the study, or the library, or any of the nearby rooms, and Porthos was at a loss. The car was still parked out front, so he couldn't have gone far.

"Everything alright sir?" Porthos jumped slightly and turned to find Renard had appeared silently behind him.

"Have you seen Athos?" he asked.

"I believe he may have gone out to the church, sir." Renard pointed down a track to the west of the main drive, and Porthos could see the top of a stone tower peeping over a rise in the ground.

Thanking Renard, he set off up the hill. The rain of the night before had passed on, but the ground was sodden and before long his shoes were soaked. Cursing slightly, he was about to walk into the porch when he spotted Athos standing a little way off and made his way between the headstones instead.

Athos was staring at a recent grave, still with its simple wooden cross awaiting the more permanent efforts of the stonemason. Porthos walked up quietly beside him, and Athos sighed.

"I keep wondering if I should have made more of an effort to bridge the rift between us," he said quietly. "Tried harder."

"Could he have contacted you, if he'd wanted to?" Porthos asked. The letter had come to the house after all, so he assumed at least someone had known where to find Athos in an emergency.

Athos nodded silently, and Porthos slid a hand into his. "Then he had his chance as well. Sometimes life just doesn't work out. It's okay to be sad about it. But don't let it eat you up." He considered his phrasing, then nudged Athos in the ribs. "That's my job."

Athos stifled a horrified laugh, and gave him a reproving look. "This is a churchyard you know."

"Yeah, and they give me the willies. Which is supposed to be your job," Porthos added with a grin. "Let's go home eh? Sooner we get back, the sooner you can give me a right seeing to. That'll cheer you up."

Athos gave him an exasperated smile, and then slowly nodded. "Alright. Come on." He started walking back towards the gate, picking his way carefully across the wet grass.

Porthos glanced down at the graves they'd been standing beside. It was in a segregated area of the churchyard, and he guessed there were generations of Athos' family buried here going back hundreds of years. The adjacent stones were clearly those of Athos' brother and mother, and Porthos gave them a slight nod of respect.

"Don't worry, I'll look after him now," he muttered. "Better'n you ever did, anyway," he added in an undertone, turning to follow Athos back to the house.

\--

They arrived safely back in Paris in the early afternoon and trudged thankfully in the front door, dropping their bags in the hallway and looking at each other a little awkwardly. They'd left here as employer and employee, albeit rather intimate ones, but now everything had changed.

"Well. Here we are." Porthos gave Athos an uncertain smile that Athos returned just as nervously.

"Yes." They stared at each other for a second, and Athos bit his lip. "I'll put the kettle on, shall I?"

"Yeah." Porthos nodded in relief, then was cross with himself for leaving things unsaid. "Athos. Wait a sec."

Athos turned back, and Porthos shuffled his feet. "So - how do you want to do this? Will you move into my room?"

"Do you want me to?" Athos asked carefully, not quite meeting his eyes.

Porthos thought about it. "Yes."

Athos did look at him then, with a spark of relief. "Alright. Yes. If you're sure?"

Porthos came closer and took his hands, "Surer than I've ever been," he said sincerely and Athos gave him a warm smile. 

"Good," he said softly.

"That's settled then." Porthos beamed at him, pleased, then realised he was searching for something else to say. "So how about that drink eh?"

"Yes, of course." Athos headed hastily into the kitchen and Porthos winced, worrying that had sounded too much like an instruction. He was used to ordering Athos about, that was the trouble. It was probably going to be a hard habit to break.

He followed Athos into the kitchen and climbed up on a stool. "You're going to have to train me," he said. Athos gave him a puzzled look and Porthos shrugged.

"I suspect I've become a bit of a spoilt brat," he admitted. "I didn't have much, when I was growing up you see. I've probably over-compensated." 

Athos gave a glimmer of a smile. "My family had plenty of money, but things were pretty regimented, under my father," he confessed.

Porthos held out his arms, and Athos walked over to stand in front of him, letting Porthos wind his legs around him from his position on the bar stool.

"Well you can rein me in, and I'll help you loosen up a bit, how does that grab you?" Porthos suggested with a smile. 

"Good. It sounds good," Athos said, letting Porthos fold him into a hug.

They were interrupted by the rattle of the letterbox, and Porthos went to see what had arrived. He came back holding a large square envelope.

"Hand-delivered," he observed, taking out a stiff sheet of embossed card. "It's an invitation from Aramis. He's throwing his usual pre-Christmas bash."

"Will you go?" Athos asked carefully. He was conscious that there was a certain pattern to Porthos' life, and he didn't want feel he was getting in the way of it. 

Porthos looked at him, then batted Athos on the head with the card. "It's to both of us, you muffin."

Athos finally managed to glimpse the writing. 

_...requests the pleasure of your company...Porthos du Vallon and Athos de la Fere... ___

__"You told him?" Athos asked, surprised._ _

__"Yeah. I spoke to him this morning, while you were packing up," Porthos said. "That was okay, right?" he checked, suddenly less confident seeing Athos' expression. "I mean - he is my best mate."_ _

__"Yes. Yes, of course, it's fine," said Athos._ _

__"I didn't tell him anything - you know. I just said we were together now. I didn't tell him you had a title or anything about the rest of it."_ _

__"How did he take it?" Athos asked uncertainly._ _

__"He was pleased for us," Porthos nodded. "Aramis has always liked you, anyway. Plus he's always been a bit of a romantic at heart."_ _

__"Right. Well, that's good."_ _

__"I promise I didn't tell him anything else. I wouldn't. Not without your say-so."_ _

__"I suppose we should though," Athos sighed._ _

__"How'd you make that out?"_ _

__"Well, everyone's going to look down on you for fucking the help otherwise, aren't they?" Athos said, a little bitterly._ _

__Porthos slid off the stool again and wrapped his arms around Athos' waist._ _

__"Athos, you are the best thing that's ever happened to me," he said quietly. "And if anyone has a problem with that, then I don't need them in my life. The one thing I need, is you. If you want to leave Olivier buried and forgotten then that's your prerogative."_ _

__"Rochefort knows," Athos reminded him. "At least part of it."_ _

__"Yeah, well I paid him enough to keep his mouth shut," Porthos muttered. Athos looked startled._ _

__"You did what?"_ _

__Porthos shrugged uncomfortably. "When I found out what he'd uncovered - I paid him a chunk of money to keep his trap shut," he admitted._ _

__"You didn't tell me that."_ _

__"No, well, I guess I was kind've ashamed about the whole business," Porthos said. "I should have just trusted you."_ _

__"You must let me know how much you gave him," Athos said. "I'll pay you back."_ _

__Porthos shook his head. "It's only money," he said. "It's not important."_ _

__"He'll manage to leak the information one way or the other," Athos warned. "He's never liked me."_ _

__"No, well, he probably bears a grudge," Porthos agreed._ _

__"What do you mean?"_ _

__Porthos smirked. "You were the second person I interviewed, for the job."_ _

__"Rochefort?"_ _

__"Yeah."_ _

__"Christ."_ _

__Porthos grinned. "I think I had a lucky escape."_ _

__"Good thing my CV stacked up," Athos murmured, and Porthos laughed._ _

__"It was textbook." He leaned in to kiss Athos on the lips. "Best decision I ever made."_ _

__Athos kissed him back. "Let's tell people," he decided. "Better that it comes from us. I don't want that man having a hold over either of us. Secrets never did anyone any favours."_ _

__"Oh, I don't know. I'd never have met you otherwise, would I?" Porthos pointed out._ _

__"True." Athos smiled, and for a while they just stood there kissing each other softly._ _

__"Why don't we skip the drinks and go up to bed?" Porthos suggested after a while._ _

__"It's only half two in the afternoon," Athos laughed._ _

__"So?" Porthos grinned at him. "I hereby formally relieve you of all your duties," he said. "Apart from the ones that involve going to bed with me, anyway."_ _

__Athos wound his arms around Porthos' neck and kissed him. "And I promise that that is one position I will never try and resign from," he smiled._ _

__\--_ _


End file.
